


hickory dickory

by Humanities_Handbag



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, ouat refuses to write this, so i did, spicy angst, strange magic week day 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humanities_Handbag/pseuds/Humanities_Handbag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>once upon a time there was a king who was foolish and forgot the price of magic</p><p>once upon a time there was a foolish king who forgot the wonders of love</p><p>once upon a time there was a foolish king who forgot to remember time</p><p>once upon a time, time ran out</p><p>or: a debt is finally collected</p>
            </blockquote>





	hickory dickory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selkie_de_Suzie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/gifts).



> strange magic week day 1
> 
> fairy tales
> 
> all work is edited by me. please don't apply to beta.
> 
> this is my rebellion against a show that refuses to include the best couple of them all.

It had been after Marianne had left. Soaring through the skies, blinking in and out of the remaining twilight, her wings a startling camouflage against velvet heavens. His lips still bore the feel of her own, and when she’d turned to bid him goodbye for the final time he could still remember spinning her around, claws arching against her forearms and lowering his head to meet hers.

“Greedy tonight, aren’t we…” she’d whispered, voice sweet as a hymn, soft as a sun.

“Damn ye, let me be fer once.”

“Don’t I always?” And with that she’d closed the gap, standing atop her toes, dragging him down the rest of the way. His fangs nibbled carefully and her tongue drew a signature and everything tasted of lilacs and raspberries and the color of a broken star, and he was so completely in love that it burned.

She’d draw back first - _she always drew back first_ \- and looked up with those huge eyes. They flashed gold in the dying embers of a fire that needed kindling.

(that he couldn’t provide)

(no matter how much he wanted to)

(no matter how much he thought he couldn’t)

His shadow did its part to shroud her face, trying in part to display the reminder of _this is what you’ll always be_. But still the gold of those eyes flashed up.

Marianne was a villain in every sense when she glanced upon him with that pure and complete and confusing adoration, as if he were the only thing in the whole world. If she’d only asked, he would have torn his chest from his body and opened himself up to prove that his heart had long since been branded with her letters and markings, and every beat sang her name with a tune as haunting as the sea… _Marianne… Marianne… Marianne_. It was no longer his. She’d long taken that from him.

Marianne was a villain, a thief, a slayer of monsters, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

And then she’d kissed him again, and whispered a promise of return into his mouth;

“You’ll be back?” he’d asked, as he asked every night. The terror of losing her greater than that of confusion as to why she stayed.

“Always,” she would reply. “For you, Bog… Always.”

* * *

 

But that night… that night had been different. There was no telling why, really.

It had started the same, with fights and sweat and heaving laughter against the walls that had left her clutching her stomach. Dinner had been a messy affair, though none at his castle were never good at neat. He could still remember the first of them, when she’d stared at the assortment wide eyed, amazed at the idea that she could eat as much as she wanted, take her fill and leave behind judgemental eyes.

 _What’s the matter_ … he’d asked, nudging her with a spoked elbow. _Ye look like this is new_.

She hadn’t seen it, but after her second plate (at the encouragement of his mother) she’d excused herself with a half smile and a wave of her fingers. He’d gone after her when she hadn’t returned, the sun ticking its slow way down, and had found her standing by the window. The moon had been up then, too. Not full, but waxing enough to see the tracks that left paint-by-number emotions.

 _Marianne_ -

A hug had silenced him, dragged him down, tugged him tight

(tight tight tight)

No one had said anything.

No one had needed to.

He’d once read in a book of Fairy Tales, where monsters gobbled up flighty things, that they had been foolish for trusting. For believing the evils of the smart and the witty when they offered them family, and they’d taken it without thought. He’d wondered then if that was what had happened. If he (monster that he was) had drawn her in with a promise and she’d lost all will to step away. But when she didn’t, when it seemed like she never would, then he turned to a blank page and hoped, hoped, _hoped_ for the best.

Dinners became frequent after that, and Marianne always found room for a second plate.

And that night after swordfighting and eating to their hearts content she’d suggested a walk through the forest which had subsequently left her shirt ruffled and her back indented with the marks from a large oak just a few yards away.  He tells her about fairy tales there, as he tends to do. About positions and titles and dragons with silver tongues. And she, as she tends to do, laughs until the wind settles.

“You are _evil_ ,” she’d told him, walking back, hand in hand. His claws had been careful of her wrists. Her nails had scratched a pattern against his fingers. He was inclined to agree. “Evil, evil, Bog King of the Dark Forest. Taking away maidens like me and gobbling up their hearts.”

“You, my dear, act like you’re a victim of a one side crime.”

She just nudged him and walked on. “What,” she asked finally, smiling that perfect smile, “am I going to do with you!”

 _Marry me_ , he’d wanted to say. _You could always just marry me_. “Dunno,” he said instead. The moon above was full and violet. Her wings shimmered when they twitched in a frustration he couldn’t place. “What d’ye have in mind.”

“I’d suggest another fight, but I have to leave to sign proclamations tomorrow morning. Big day for trading. Might not be able to come back until-”

(once upon a time)

(there was a prince who made a mistake)

(and that prince became a king)

(who fell in love with a fairy)

Thinking back hard Bog could remember the moment that it had started. A flicker. An illusion. A moment of breathlessness that had passed through him without mercy. With Marianne on his left, staff in his right hand, the smell of cedar and pine and something sickeningly sweet that couldn’t be placed, he’d searched out the wood with the eye of a King and had seen… something. A flutter of fabric. A smile as thick as it was vengeful. A finger lifting to silence. Black and lavender and lips as red as blood, red as satin, red as ** _you know what you’ve done_ **. A new smell of magic, tingling and stinging.

And just like that-

(once upon a time)

(there was a king who found a fairy)

(and lost her all the same)

“Bog?” Marianne’s voice had broken through. He blinked. The thing was gone, only the trees and the violet light and the faint smell of potions remained.

(once upon a- once upon a- once upon a-)

“What?”

(time)

“I was just saying that I wouldn’t be able to see you until next week. But maybe if we’re careful- _are you okay_?” He’d darted his head to the side once more, squinting worriedly through the foliage.

“Oh? Oh! Yes. Aye. I’m… Ah’m fine.”

“You don’t seem-”

“Just thought I saw something, love.” But his heart was beating a liars tale, and his breath was quick silver in his chest. He momentarily wondered if pulling his hand from hers would have helped, she must have been able to feel the pulse that was begging to break from skin, but she just squeezed his hand tighter. “Ah’m fine,” he promised once more when she fixed the same look upon him.

“Bog-”

“Ah promise.”

And just like that it was dropped, and Bog was left in his own head where women appeared in the wood and danger smelled of cedar and pine and nothing was ever to be the same and he doubted very much that there would even be a tomorrow.

Every meeting was out of pity and every goodbye was a relief.

It must have been.

Month after week after day after minute after second and second and second of excruciating wonder of when it would all end had tormented him endlessly. Lying in bed alone, staring at the ceiling, wondering if the next day would be the one where she’d tell him that it couldn’t work. And they’d part graciously and he’d go back to being alone and scared and different. It wasn’t until his ceiling had a second pair of eyes did he believe that perhaps there was a chance. _I love you_ , she’d whisper in his ear. The night where she’d tried her best to scream his name but let it fall beneath gasps and kisses as he loved her in every place but still not enough (not ever enough) was one where he was sure that if she left him then he wouldn’t stop her, but he’d lose himself entirely.

And it wasn’t until she told him shyly and beneath her breath that she’d been thinking about studying on the chances of mixed species mortality, that he became hers and hers alone, and was sure, for once, that it couldn’t ever end.

(once upon a time)

(there was a princess who stayed)

And then, that night, he was sure that it would.

(and once upon a time)

(there was a princess who left)

She’d told him goodbye, she’d kissed him goodnight, and still he held on tighter, fear filling his shell and sending his head spinning.

“I’ll be back!” she’d laughed, her fingers drawing lines up the back of his neck, in between the sensitive spaces between chitin and skin. “Oh my god, Bog, I promise I will!”

“And… if you don’t.”

It had taken a moment to process that. But the honesty in the question was undeniable. She’d leaned back, stared, frowned. “What? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because…” _because I am not worth the return_ , every bone in his body wished to shriek. _Because you were never mine, and I cannot trap you like this. With wings like those and a smile all the same, you are far more deserving to find someone to match_. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, mutter anything of the sort. Not when the sting of her hand batting him against the back of the head returned to remind him of the consequence of such voiced concerns.

Her face molded, changed, felt the beginnings of those against the tip of her tongue. She must have tasted them forming when they’d kissed, sour and taunting. “Bog…? Is everything okay?” Her long fingers painted an arrow down his arm.

He swallowed, nodded mutely. “What…” he clearend his throat, “what if you get lost?”

“Lost?” One brow went up, her vision looking towards the window. Moonlight caught onto the glass and shimmered in the uneven cracks. “You think I’m going to get… lost?”

“... um… _no_ … But-” a shrug, “Just. You know. What if.”

“Then you’ll find me,” Marianne smiled confidently. “If I know you, you’d do anything to find me.”

She was teasing, he knew. Joking lightly with that smile he knew too well. Had traced every corner and line and movement. Watched every flicker with obsessive passion. But even if the joke was that alone, his answer lacked it. “Ah’d move the world.” he told her honestly. “Ah’d open up the sky and wrangle the gods…” A scaled brow bumped hers, brown eyes closing at the rasp of plates on skin. “Ah’d dui _anything_ ta find ye again.”

“Then I’ll have to work my hardest not to get lost, wont I? Wouldn’t want you wrangling up anything. Not with these claws.” Their hands twined, and he felt a surge of relief that she was still here, still tangible.

The moonlight flickered and he almost wanted to pull her away, refraining from looking out and seeing another omen in dark garb. Afraid that perhaps it hadn’t been light or tricks. His shoulders clicked and rattled with anxiety, wings giving their own nervous flicker. Afraid… afraid… _afraid_ … of something that he couldn’t even give a name.

Maybe there was nothing to fear.

Nothing to fear…

Holding tighter to her, still there, still her, still with _him_ , he tried to keep from himself from remembering that he feared nothing quite a lot.

“Stay the night…” he begged lightly, moving to brush a kiss against the shell of her ear. “ _Stay_.”

“You know… _mph_ … I can’t…”

“You can.” His teeth scratched the curved tip and she moaned lightly against his neck.

“You’re distracting me from leaving when you know I have to.”

“I’m a beast…” He went to nibble her ear again, harumphing dejectedly when he was pushed away. “It’s my duty ta distract ye.”

“Indeed it is.” Blue eyes widened hopefully. Her own closed with a sigh. “You _know_ I can’t, Bog. I have to be up at dawn-”

“You could always-”

“And if I stay here, _even if we do sleep_ , I’ll be scrambling in the morning.” She crossed her arms, jutting out her hip, “I don’t _like_ to scramble.”

“That, love, is because you’re no fun.”

Marianne snorted, flicking back a piece of unruly hair. It fell once more in front of her eyes, and he reached out, claws tucking it back into place. “Says the man who despises chaos.”

“Lest it be my own.” His hand fell from her hair and he smiled. “Till next time then, I suppose.”

She chuckled, reached up, pulled him down again. “Till next time,” she promised, and he dreaded its fullness in an empty place she couldn’t even see. “Until you go and find me again.” The final time she kissed him - _for it would be the final time_ \- there was something off about it all. It tugged at his chest and hurt his head and sent everything reeling. He tugged her closer, bunching his eyes, doing his best to figure out what it could be that set the atmosphere ringing with startling alarms.

“Goodbye, Bog…” she whispered in his ear, too soon for him to know. But he released her all the same, worry disguised behind a tepid smile. “Goodbye.”

“I love you,” he told her honestly, lungs burning with a million more.

“You’re an idiot,” she beamed back.

And then she was gone.

* * *

He did his best to keep himself busy for a while. Looking over scrolls in the bluish light of a waning moon, kindling the fire until his mind was filled with crackles and embers, stacking plates from dinner. The unsteady feeling in his gut didn’t seem as if it had any plans to leave, and so he let it sit and stew, silent and curious.

“What’s got yer thorax in a twist?” his mother had come in at one point. He couldn’t be sure of the time, but he’d stared at the window long enough to know that it was late. The entire forest had become stretched shadows, the sky behind it riddled and punctured, stroking the trees with unknown whispers. That’s how she had found him, hands locked behind his back staring outside. “I haven’t seen ya this much in a bunch since before that Fairy crashed through the skylight.” She chuckled. “She still owes us fer that.”

“I assumed it was already paid off.”

“Kisses aren’t architecture, Boggy.” He smirked softly before turning back towards the moon. From beside him she let out a grievous puff of air between her teeth. “Alright. I fold. What’s goin’ on.”

His shoulders slit the air with a shrug. “I… Ah’m not sure. There’s somethin’ happening. And… and I don’t know what it is.”

“Yer being cryptic. Cut it out.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Yes ya can. You can tell yer old mother what’s bothering you and then grow a pair.”

He shook his head. The moon flickered, and from behind him his shadow, the only companion of consistency he’d learned to rely on, lengthened and stretched like gruesome vines. “Something’s going to happen soon, mother,” he told the moon. “Something that’s going ta change everything. Don’t ask me how I know. I just _know_.”

Griselda rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up, scooping oxygen. “Ugh. Fine. But if ye ask me, I really don’t like this whole conspicuous thing going on. If yer so adamant that everything’s changing why not go talk to Marianne about it. She’s got more patience for your thick head than I do, though I don’t know _how_.”

“You _raised_ me mother.”

“Yeah. And how well did that turn out.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, but his smile was fond and his gaze was soft. “I may just do that then. It’s been some time since I visited her land.”

“Ugh. Good. An’ don’t come back until ya can talk right.” She waggled her finger before slapping his calf. Moving to gather the plates from the table she gave a short wave. “I’m heading to bed. Do what you’re gonna do.”

“I will, mother.”

“Mph.”

Another wave passed over him. Sadness. Hurt. Fear.

(once upon a time)

(there was a king who thought too much)

There was more to lose, and something told him that there would be much more than just love that had arrived suddenly and perfectly not a year (too soon) ago.

“Mother!” She turned, raised one brow. The door softly fell back, propping up against the heel of her foot.  

“Just in case there’s… I mean…” he swallowed, opened and closed his mouth. Finally he shook his head. “I luv ye, mother,” Bog mumbled, raising his gaze to hers, shy as a summers dawn. “Ye know that… right?”

Her shoulders slumped, form going velvet, dark eyes fixed securely on his without shame or doubt. “Of course I do, sweetheart. And I love you. Forever and always.”

He smiled through the sting in the back of his eyes, holding back the urge to call her back as the doors swung close behind her.

There was the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. Outside, the crickets, devious little eavesdroppers that they were, returned to their chirping. The sound of Fairies on the border struck him, soft and melodic, and the bellowing of Goblin laughter of his people joining in on the same. A bonfire, perhaps. Squinting through the glass he could see the small flickers of light that said it was that, and despite a past of hatred he couldn’t help but feel the lines of his mouth quirk. Things were turning out alright on their own. His assistance, her guidance, could only do so much.

There was the sound of light snoring from far away. His mother, and half the palace, had fallen asleep. Below there was the shadow of the first night guard shift.

Sounds, smells, colors, beliefs of a future halting where they stood, he took in the nightime with a dreading finality and hoped upon all hopes that he was wrong. Because in that moment, with the moon and the bonfire and the way life moved on smoothly without prediction or care, it seemed like it would be okay.

And then he was truly alone.

But not quite.

(once upon a time)

(there was a king who forgot the rules of magic)

(and never remembered the price of it)

“She is charming. That new woman of yours, I mean. _So_ much more suitable than the last one.”

The smell was sweet and nauseating, permeating through the borders of the room before her reflection passed over the window, blood red smile arching in front of him beneath black eyes, quick and dark. Bog turned fast enough to churn the sparks in the air to electricity, glaring promises at the woman who’d found her way to lounge against his table.

“And cuter, too! A real _doll_.” Marianne’s wine glass now resided between her fingers, a purple stain where her lips had grazed it to drink happily from the chalice. Scarlet occupied the other side now, and their scar was as wrong as it was bright. “Really, Bog King, where _did_ you find her?”

Those eyes.

Those lips.

That smile.

(once upon a time)

(there was a queen)

“Get out.”

“What? So soon? You weren’t really as quick to dismiss your new toy when she wished to go. Or does she do that a lot? _Wish to go_?” The woman’s fair face twisted in cruel pleasure, watching the words sink in, hitting their mark. “Shame, really.”

“What’d’ya wan’t..”

“Oh don’t play dumb! You know what I want! Isn’t that much obvious enough?”

“No.”

She laughed a slow, venomous laugh and her hip crooked. In the light of the moon outside she resembled a stained glass figure- a halo of animism stretched and pulled apart when she smiled with broken sin. “Well then,” she leered, a chirp tightened and strung up between her teeth, “you’re not half as smart as I thought.”

“Tell me now, or go.”

“Come on. You don’t want three guesses?” He snarled. She smiled. “You always were a sore loser? How _does_ that fragile little fairy avoid that?”

“ _What d’ye want, Regina_?”

She walks across the room like a snake through the grass, parting the particles and breathing in the smoke. And Bog thinks that she rather looks like something on the prowl, no matter how elegantly she attempts to hide her fangs.

His, on the other hand- “You’re stepping on my land. That puts you on _my grounds_ for punishment. Trespassing is a high crime, _Majesty_.”

She laughs, and it burns. “You took a love potion years ago, Bog King. Tressspassing is hardly my issue alone.”

Fists clenched, claws digging into the top of his wrist. “An’ I paid my price for it!”

Regina snorted, sliding off the table. With a flick of her wrist the fire was once more ignited in the hearth, its red glow slithering across the room. “You think _rejection_ is enough of a penalty for using _magic_! You’re a fool, King. Then again, you always were.”

“I got hurt. That’s wha’ ye wanted.”

“There’s no penance in a heart.”

“I was broken!”

“You were _bruised_.” She chuffed, shrugging with her entire body. “Of course, if you’d rather I’d show you what a broken heart _actually_ looks like!” Her fingers wiggled, eyes darting to a chest of plates gone thin under her gaze. “That can be easily arranged.”

“What…” he stated again, doing his best to keep teeth from grinding, jaw tightening all the same, “ _dui ye want_ , witch?”

Her hand fluttered to her chest, insult thick as it was teasing. “You wound me.”

“I can dui that, too, if ye dunnai find the door.” His staff lifted. “So state yer business an’ _go_.”

“Business with no pleasure. Sad.” His glare didn’t shift. And finally she took the hint as it was given. She took a sip from the wine, blinking lazing at the sweet taste. “I’m here because a long time ago, you came to _me_ to find out how to make a love potion. I told you that there would be a price. You didn’t care.”

“I was young. And _foolish_.”

“There’s no excuse in age.” He snapped his jaw shut. “I directed you to the one who could give you what you wanted. We made a deal that day.” She took another long drag from the cup, swallowing back. “You told me you’d do anything in exchange for that secret. Remember that, Bog King?”

The feral look was beginning to quiver, and even he had the good sense to look scared.

“I was young,” he said again.

“You were _easy_ ,” she corrected. “Hardly able to discern passion from _promise_. She held _nothing_ for you. And to think- if she hadn’t already found that darling Goblin-”

“It was an accident!” he plead.

“There are no _accidents_ in magic.”

“You didn’t _stop_ me! And Plum-”

“Plum warned you more than she had to. And you captured her for something she couldn’t control. But lucky for me, Bog King…” another slow drag of wine. “I am far less easy to keep. And I am far less easy to _break_. Unlike your new _toy_.”

He breathes (in fairytales) and breathes out (hope). “You need something,” says the King of all Kings, holding his scepter near. “What.”

Her voice dropped, smile following. “I need a favor,” she told him, leaning back against the table. “And you seem to be the only one who can help me.”

“Why me?”

“Because none of these other Fairy Tale Antagonists decided to change their fate, which is a shame.” She signed. “You would have made a wonderful Villain, you know, if you’d just found it in you to let that staff find its mark.”

Visions of Marianne held by Goblins, his hands raised, his roar loud and echoing, left his stomach rolling and he had to close his eyes.

(too close)

(too close to losing)

(too close to losing everything)

“You have a point…” he hissed through the nausea. “Make it.”

“I need a favor,” she said again. “And I need it from you.”

“Make your demands.”

“You’re a _King_ , Bog. Despite _foolishness_ , you’re still a King. And I need someone with power by my side. Someone who’s willing to give when and where.”

“Ye can’t travel back and forth. My people will start askin’ questions-”

“They wont.”

“My Kingdom-”

“Will be _gone_.” His eyes go to crows feel, and the corners of her mouth draw up wings. “There’s magic coming.” And when she looked round to meet him, he had to draw in a breath from the sadness she did her best to hide behind nonchalance. “A wave of it. It’s going to displace us all into a place… without it.”

“And you think I care? I have no magic. If ye wan’t ta find someone else, talk to Plum-”

Regina waved him off with a gloved hand, “Oh she’s no good. That Sprite isn’t going to miss much when hers is taken. It’s all menial stuff, really. No potions, no orbs. She’ll be fine.”

“Then why me?”

“I told you-”

“You havenaugh told me _everythin_ ’.”

She speaks slow, as if to a child, and it fills the room to its rim. “When this magic comes, we will be displaced.” she said again, slower, calculating every word. “From those who have magic, it will strip them of it. And for those who have memories-”

“That’s _everyone_ -”

“It will take those from them. Stories will be… reordered. To be what they should have been. No happy endings,” she clasped her hands beneath her chin, puckering ruby lips. “Realistic ones.”

“Yee’re not making any sense.”

“My favor from you,” she continued, hardly listening to a word of his panic, “is that I want you to remember. I can do that, you know? Make a few people remember? And before you ask why,” she pressed, cutting off the words that balanced atop his brow, “it’s more for my own amusement. I need others _besides_ Rumplestiltskin to relay information. And I can’t trust a word out of that foul man’s mouth. But you-” she stepped closer, one long, gloved finger reaching up to touch his chin. “you’re just the right amount of good and evil to… balance yourself out. You’ll tell me the truth.”

“Will I?”

“Yes.” She told him without hesitation. “You will. Because you’ll have nothing else to do. And trust me,” she stepped back, releasing his face. Her eyes flashed something sorrowful, and he did his best to latch onto it. Especially when her voice leaked out uncharacteristically low. “... when you have no one else, there’s nothing but the truth really.”

“But I’ll have someone else,” Bog turned on his heel, “I’ll always have someone else. So you might as well leave now before-”

“Your new plaything will be gone.”

He stopped fast enough to tear the floor from its place. Blue’s wider than the moon that hung beyond the window, his breath stilled in his lungs and his throat caught tight. From outside a chorus of cicadas began to quiet their tragic tales, the brook a weeping friend crossing past his home.

“What…” he swallowed, turned, furrowed his brow. His staff crossed over his body without realization, other hand moving to hold tight in need of the security. “What… what did ye say about… about Marianne…”

“Is that her name!” Regina’s smile beamed viciously until even the lunar competitor shuddered in its place. “ _Marianne_.” she tested, and then bunched her nose. “It’s plain for a Fairy. I would have thought she’d have something obnoxious like all the little devils on Neverland.”

“ _What d’ya mean she’ll be gone_.”

“Really, Bog, I thought that was obvious-”

His wings cut the air, and before she could move he’d pinned her to the wall, weapon holding her steady, the milky column of her throat exposed. He snarled, fangs reflecting on the still burning fire. “ _What_ ,” he growled, “dui ye _mean_.” The glass shatters on the ground.

The purple lips seperate and breathe.

Stop.

_Sink._

She wiggled beneath his hold, and he added more pressure. It did little to phase her, and she offered more of an annoyed glance than anything. He growled. She sighed. “I meant what I said before, you know. When I said that stories will be reordered to be what they should have been. Happy endings as they make sense. And you, Bog King,” she pushed against the staff again, wriggling, “make little sense for her.”

“We make sense.”

“Ha! You? The one who nearly split her skull open?”

“I _never_ thought-”

“Never thought? Or still think.”

“ _Enough_!”

“All I’m saying, dear, is that you’re going to find yourself in a situation that is more realistic. As will she. And for her, you’re simply not _in_ that reality, I’m afraid.”

It wasn’t for a lack of rage that he released his hold, but the numbness of it all that caused him to step back. He closed his eyes, breathed in and out, in and out, in and-

“You should really watch that thing,” he heard her speak, listened to the sound of her glove skimming her throat where he’d pressed hard enough to imprint patterns- a frieze on a perfect sculpture. “You could hurt someone.” After a moment her hand dropped. She adjusted her skirts, took a step closer, cocked her head. Her hair was piled atop it, and it swayed hazardously, but knew well enough the punishment if it lost its delicate shape, and not a single strand fell out of place. He had to turn away from it, reminded of people whose auburn locks could never find the will to stay put. “She won't remember you,” Regina explained airily. “You’ll wake up. And she’ll either be there or she won’t, but she won't remember you, and that’s all that we can really be sure of.”

“Where…” he swallowed. “Where _will_ she be.”

She shrugged, the fabric at her shoulders bunching. “Who knows with these things. She could be in a flower shop or the head of a business or out on the streets. But she’s happy here and there isn’t much conflict at all.” When he turned away from her all he could see was the wine atop the table. “I mean, have you _seen_ you? And _her?_ Look at the both of you! You don’t _match_ , sweetheart.”

“Stop...”

She does, mercifully, reaching up to touch his face. He moves away. “Bog. Darling.”

“I won't do what ye say.”

“You will because-”

“ _I won’t_.”

“Bog.”

“Bog _King_.”

“You’ve made your foolish mistakes long ago,” Regina warned, “don’t make them again now.”

“I’ve given all I can.” He moves away. “You’re free to go. I’ll spare you-”

“You’re hardly the one with the power to be merciful here, King.”

“Leave my castle.” And Bog is turning before he can finish drowning. “You’re spared. And my mercies are mine to give.”

(once upon a time)

(there was a king who could not understand his mistakes)

“Then we’ll just have to correct that. Won’t we?”

She’s gone by the time he looks back.

(he’ll deny he ever did)

(once upon a time)

* * *

Marianne woke with a weak shout, her fist throwing itself into blind air. It was caught easily in a move that was horribly nostalgic of more aggressive times, and she blinked, her feet digging into the petals of her bed, ready to jump away towards where she knew her sword was kept. Her heart beat a staccato promise of fresh blood and she opened her mouth to shout, to scare, to make whoever was there in the dark step away-

“ _Marianne_ , augh, gods, sorry love!” His grip loosened, and he moved back enough for the moonlight spilling from windows to better drown across his face. “Sorry…” he said again, watching her relax. She swallowed clutching at her chest, but the shaky smile that split after was a good enough sign. “I- uh… sorry. I should have announced mahself… or something.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, training the quiver from her voice, breathing in to stanch wild thoughts of swords. “or something.” She frowned. “What… what are you doing here?”

He gave her a guilty look, leaning back. “I- ah… that is… _you_ couldn’t stay the night so I-”

“You never stay here.”

“I know.” The Fey gave him a look he’d seen before. _You’re hiding something._

“But you _never_ stay here!”

He shook his head. “I know.”

“So-”

“So I thought I would.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…” Marianne looked away, casting her glances down upon the bed. “Oh.” He followed her gaze. She’d told him before that Fairies slept on flowers and that they changed them every week or so. Her favorite were roses. _It’s like sleeping on velvet_ , she’d sighed. _Nothing like moss… but still good…_ The one they sat on now was a peony. “You’re not going to fit on the bed all the way,” she told the peony.

“I know…”

“Your legs will hang over!” she laughed the words, little bells against a cathedral of light and opened windows and intruders of the most immoral kind. “You can’t want that.”

“I never said I wanted my legs ta hang over. I just wanted you. That’s why I’m here.”

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but didn’t, bunching her hands into the sides of her nightgown instead. He could see the jagged lines where clumsy stitches etched up and down in odd and chaotic nebulas, winging out into hands never really meant to use needle and thread as a weapon against the world that drew heavy hands down her shoulders. Places where his fangs had grappled through passion, opening spaces between the petals on the thin shoulder.

Another line, rusted over with a stain that had long since turned wine, where he knew beneath a tear existed all its own through skin as thin as it was precious. That one always tugged the tightest at his ribs. Nightmares were dangerous things for creatures meant to stay under beds and not atop them besides lovers holding tightly and dreaming without. Creatures with claws weren’t meant to hold anything close at all. The sheets bearing those stains had long been burned, but she insisted on keeping her nightgown. Dawn had fixed it without complaint or question. He hated that most of all.  

(once upon a time)

(a king wished for nothing more than to vanish scars)

(and to remember them as his own)

“This isn’t realistic… is it.”

“What?”

“Us? Me an’ you? It’s not _realistic_?”

“Bog,”

“The beast and the fairy. I mean, sweetheart, _really_! Had that elf not called out I might have-”

“Stop it!”

The castle doesn’t wake, even after she rattles the room with her shout. And he sinks lower in his place. The room is darker, lighter, all at once. She glares, amber, and he dares not reach for it.

And then she says: “Why are you doing this?” and he has to wonder the same.

“Doing _what_?”

She wiggled atop him and he held back a growl. “You’re here.” She pointed out easily, crossing her arms. The stitching on her nightgown stretched. “You’re _here_! And you’re making _terrible accusations_ about the state of our relationship!”

“Ye keep saying that.” He looked away. “And… I’m _not_.”

“You _are_. And you’re never here. I’m always _there_.” One finger rose up as if by string, the air a master of the puppets beneath, and pointed at the forest beyond the glen. He turned, looking towards his land. From the horizon they stood like guardians, breathing deeply into the stars, swaying with each treacherous exhale. “Which is _fine_ , but…” the same hand went up higher, once more without the command of the master it was connected to, and scrubbed an aggravated pattern into her hair. “Why do I feel like this is wrong?”

Bog propped himself up on the back of two spoked elbows. He felt the petals beneath him shiver back. “... is it?”

“Well… _no_. But also _yes_.” She putters her fists on the bed in an anger that doesn’t surface as much as float. “Why do I get the feeling something _bad_ is gonna happen.”

“Nothing will.”

“You’re lying.”

“I might be.”

“Bog-”

“It’s nothing, Marianne.”

She lies beside him once more, and ponders lies and love and loss, and finally puntuates it all with a promise. “I love you.”

“That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Fine. Then I hate you.” She kissed him, sweet and sure. “I hate you magnificently and wonderfully. Is that better?”

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”

“And I don’t think you’re listening to me.” Leaning down she wrapped lean arms around his shoulders. “I told you I hated you. That’s what you wanted right?”

“... I don’t know…”

Her lips flickered up into that secret sort of smile, the one that everyone received but only he seemed to really know. The one with the sadness held in the corner, dim and awful. And when she kissed him again he could taste it, forlorn in its tenderness and terrible in its hatred of the host it occupied. “That’s fine…” she murmured. “As long as you know I don’t really hate you.” When he didn’t respond she tucked her head under his chin.

If anyone had asked Marianne where her favorite place in the world was she would have told them in the light, under the sun, wings spread open to greet the morning and mourn the night. It wouldn’t have been a lie. But it wouldn’t have been the truth either.

Her favorite place in the world was tucked against the warm column of the Bog King’s neck, feeling every chuckle and sigh press through her skin, shutting herself to darkness and feeling every vibration. Like a shell told her whispers of the ocean, right there told her the deepest grievances of a man who thought himself hardly deserving of a star she’d long ago deemed unfit to be the sun.

He swallowed. She felt it against her brow and closed her eyes. And when he told her “go to sleep” she felt that too. And it burned in places she hadn’t expected.

“I can do what I want.” She wiggled again, getting more comfortable atop his scaled body, feeling them bite through the thin petals that made up her gown. He shifted his arms as if to take them away, but she growled and he kept them where they were. “You didn’t answer my question. Is this the last-”

“You have a meeting tomorrow,” he said, and that burned more.

“I do.”

“So sleep.”

Marianne snuggled closer to him, finally letting her legs relax. Sliding off of him she found her place against his side. “I’ll be fine, Bog. You know that, right? I can take care of myself.” Her questions were to be remained unanswered for the night, it would seem and she let out a puff of breath, like smoke, from between frustratedly thinned lips, and it hushed across his collar. His hand went out after that, skimming apologetically across her arm, her stomach, the scar he’d caused without meaning, all softly, as if he were afraid he’d cut her.  

He was always afraid.

She wasn’t though, and her hand went up to thread between his fingers, tracing between every stubborn digit, pressing lightly against gnarled knuckles, so much like the knobs of trees, rounded and grotesque and rough as bark, trailing across the curved tip of his nail to the point, sharp enough to empale. Claws that had at one point, stories told between the stitches in her nightgown and the ones he regretted more found below (he’d never get the visions of her blood across his bed out of her mind, Dawn’s frightened gasps from his ears, the sound of Marianne’s soothing reassurances that everything was alright even when it wasn’t).

Claws that had scratched in passion and fear, leaving wounds shallow and superficial, but wounds all the same. Claws of a monster. Claws of things that didn’t have Fairies with soft bodies wound round them with smiles and easy trust.

But when he tried to take his hand away she just held tighter and, moving her body, rolling a few inches until her back pressed warmly against his front, she pulled the sharp, long arm above and around her and settled in its cage. No arguments were to be had about it, and he knew then she wouldn’t have allowed them to begin. So instead he leaned closer, bumping his brow lightly against downy hair, pressing a firm kiss to the back of her head.

“I shouldn’t be here.” he said to her back.

Marianne just pressed herself closer. “You should _always_ be here,” she insisted. “Even if your legs do hang off the bed.”

* * *

  
(once upon a time)

(there was a princess who loved a king very, very much)

(and once upon a time)

(there was a king who loved a princess very, very much)

(too much)

* * *

  
The moment he saw the sun rise at midnight he was sure something was wrong. That perhaps magic had finally arrived and had taken time and twisted and bent it until it lay supine and confused. As if the arms that ticked happily along had gone to wrestling one another, turning the entire way upside on its head. And he’d squinted through the window to stare harder at the brilliant red glaze that had taken over the sky.

It took him another moment to see the flames.

He was out the window before he remembered how to fly, wings stuttering into a pace he’d never forced upon them, bulleting through the trees. He reached her Kingdom faster than he’d ever done before.

Or what was her Kingdom.

He rushed toward the fire like a moth to light. When he got closer the heat took his breath away, scorching across his skin, burning notes into the backs of his eyes. He blinked it away, snarling through the pain of it all. “ _Mari_ -” his lungs filled with black smoke as thick as custard and stole her name from him. He tried to call out again, but couldn’t. So he growled again, diving to get closer.

If she was in there, he’d save her. That was all there was to it.

Marianne would know he was coming. Through the crackling of flames he could hear her laughter, always her laughter, murmuring gently against his ear. _Till next time_ , she had told him just one night ago. A chandelier from what must have been the ballroom fell and shot sparks and inside of them he swore he saw the amber of her eyes. _Until you go and find me again._

He’d find her. And everything would be-

When someone dragged him away, the two of them rolling against the grass, he nearly screamed. Instead he wretched, coughed, tasted burnt flesh in the back of his throat. His hands curled into the dirt, earth catching beneath his claws.

“ _The Dark Forest cannot lose their King_ ,” he heard, harpooning past the ringing in his ears - _ringing like laughter that he remembered so well_. “ _Remember well who you are_!”

He looked up to lash out, but the figure was already rushing away leaving a ribbon of iridescent blue behind them, the smell of primroses thick in the fading trail.

He tries again.

And again.

(once upon a time)

(there was a king who forgot how to slay dragons)

And every time he’s stopped, he’s caught, he’s faught, he’s beaten back by flames on flames on-

_straight on for you_

“I’m coming,” he promises the fire and the amber and the _one-two-three_ (once upon a time). Another wall crumbles (and they all come tumbling down, to the ground), and he can’t see (three blind mice, three blind mice) and he’s running out of (hickory dickory) _time_.

“Stop!” Another person grabs him back, just as a window collapses, and he tastes the ash.

There’s a smile in the fire, and he sees it, scarlet and promising. And then-

“Bog, stop!”

Dawn is there, keeping him away from the tumbling spires, and he can’t do anything to stop her from lashing out. Only blocking each as they come. “ _Stop_!”

“Princess, _move_.”

“Bog, _please_!”

“ **_No_ **!” They couldn’t give up. Not now. _Not without her_. His wings were well enough to fly and he’d use them, buzzing into a fury, teeth serating together, howling towards the column that leaked up towards the sky. A flash of blue and blonde jumped in front of him, blocking his path. “ _Move_!” He was done being pulled away, being told that a land needed its King. This land needed their Princess.

… _He_ needed…

He _needed…_

But Dawn just shook her head. Bits of her hair had burnt off, and he could see a bright red print forming across her arm. Her dress had a hole against the side of her torso, signed off with a ring of darkened and frayed petals, and beneath that the skin was already blistering. “ _Please_ , Bog-”

“ _Move_ , Dawn.”

“No!”

“I have to save-”

“ _No_!”

He wanted to grab her, shake her, scream until every ounce of smoke and Marianne expelled from his chest. “ _I need_ …” he said, working past the cluster of _I love you’s_ that had begun to age into sour _I’m sorry’s_. “I _need_ to…”

And then her arms were around him, holding as tightly as the fresh burns would allow. She tucked her head against his neck, and he had to keep himself from pushing her away because that was her spot - _it had always been her spot, her spot, her spot_ \- and Dawn was an invader in a place that was not hers to keep. But then there were tears, vandalising through the layer of soot that had formed, washing scales with her name, replacing his skin with continuations of blue eyes and flowers and _lovely’s_ that stung.

“ _Please_ …” she’d whispered into his collar. “ _Not you too_ …”

(once upon a time)

(there were two princesses who loved a king very much)

“I have to find her,” he said numbly. Looking over Dawn’s shoulder he could still see the demonic staircase stretching its ownership above them. “She’s somewhere in there. I’ll find her.”

But Dawn shook her head again, and her hair, wilder than normal, brushed beneath his nose. He could smell sunflowers and seared light. “ _No_ …” and it had come out more as a sob. Curling tighter about him she made sure her fingers weakly clamped down his wings. He could have thrown her off, pushed her away, and she knew that. But still she did her best to imprison her past captor, begging for him to stay behind feeble bars. “I won’t let you.”

“Dawn-”

“I can’t, Bog…” She’s crying, and he might be too. And then he realizes, he wasn’t. And he hates himself more for that then anything else. “I _can’t_ …”

A group of Fey Guards rushed the lost castle, casting it with water. The ashes hissed a dragon's song. From next to it the King fell to his knees looking older than Bog had ever seen him, giving up. And perhaps the Goblin should have been angry. Should have blamed the Father for letting his daughter go without the fight she deserved. Hated that he was the only one that cared and _why was he the only one_.

Dawn held him closer and begged again and again for him not to try, and he hated that she’d given up too.

And then he realized that she hadn’t.

“I can’t do it,” Dawn had sobbed, and her attempts to hold him back turned into desperate pleads to be held tighter until he was holding her back from herself and everything was on its head and the world was falling into the sky and the stars were reaching for the ground and the world was at peace in ashes and embers and swords.

“I’m sorry,” someone told him later, holding out the hilt of her weapon, bent and twisted from the heat it had endured. “I’m… I’m so sorry…”

 _Marianne_ , he wanted to say back. Because he had a million versions of her name left inside of him, and they were beginning to weigh him to the ground. He wanted nothing more than to say it again and again - _Marianne Marianne Marianne Marianne Marianne_ \- until he would be left with none of her and everything would have been light and okay and nothing would have hurt.

Instead he nodded silently and kept the word back, willing them all to stay in their place, growing heavier with every moment they spent in the dark.

He didn’t want the hurt to end.

That would have been worse.

* * *

He didn’t cry until the funeral was over. Her Kingdom couldn’t find a body, long gone with the embers, and so they’d searched for something else to bury. He hid the hilt of her sword beneath his pillow. It was selfish, but he couldn’t give it up, and hoped that she could have forgiven him for something like that. “I don’t much care if you do…” he’d whispered once to the darkness of his room, another sleepless night folding over him, staring at the shimmering edge of bent filigree, “I’m keeping it.”

No one answered.

No one would.

* * *

Her millions of still unspoken names burned far too much to bear and he threatened every universe that he’d say them all and forget.

And when they burned more he roared and clawed down the sides of his room and made promises to shout her name up until the walls of his castle fell atop him and finally finished what they’d started. To forget her and forget her sister and forget left hooks and flashing blades and songs and names - _Marianne Marianne Marianne_ \- and wait for the world to forget him too.

And then he’d told his mother to leave him be.

And then he’d told his Kingdom to watch for their cruel ruler’s vengeful hand.

And then he’d slammed doors and hissed at visitors and rattled scales and remembered and remembered and remembered

And then he threw papers and scrolls and slashed through moss and threatened to keep her name because he was a villain and villains kept what they wanted, and he’d still forget her altogether.

And then he’d cried.

Sitting in the middle of chaos, he’d held the hilt of her sword to his chest and cried, heaving through messy tears, His fangs caught his lip and he tasted blood, but didn’t notice, saltwater touching the new split in his lip, stinging wonderfully.

* * *

Regina would appear once more to meet a broken King. Not looking particularly pleased, but not looking displeased either, she’d smirked gently from under sad eyes. “I told you, didn’t I?” she said. “I told you you’d regret it.”

“What…” he rasped through a throat raw with sorrow, “do you _want_ with me.”

“I told you. I want you to remember.”

“I don’t.”

“Well too bad.” Regina shrugged, balancing her hands on her hips.

“ _Make me forget_ ,” his pleads rustled out of an body exhausted in its mourning. “ _Don’t let me remember_ …”

“This isn’t really your choice. You’ll remember whether you want to or not. But helping me? That’s still up to you.”

“I told you-”

“Magic has a price,” she snipped. “This is how you’re paying it. I’m merely asking for a favor. Make your time a little more _bearable_ by giving you something to do.”

He wanted to rise up against her, and for a moment he considered it, legs arching back against the floor. But there wasn’t a chance- a million messy names weighing him down, and he sunk back against the wall, claws rising to cover his face. He felt them princk through hard skin and hissed. “ _Get out_.” It was as much a demand as it was a desperate beg. “ _Now_.”

Regina stood a moment longer, covered in black satin, jewels fine, hair piled high atop a regal face. She shifted, holding a well made jaw proudly, sticking sharp angles through the palpable sorrow. “We’re the same, you know?” she commented, words curdled. “We’re both _alone_.” Her hands clenched in the folds of her dress, leaving small, star shaped wrinkles in her skirt. “We’ve lost someone. We lost _everyone_. Or… I did. But you might. And if you just worked with me- _if you had just listened_ \- then maybe she’d still be here. And if you listen now you won’t lose _more_.”

He wanted to get up then, wrenched himself from the floor and cut her through with his claws. Feel flesh below his nails and watch blood stain the walls. See the life leave her eyes. But there was none of him left to do that with, and his hands had turned feeble, only good to reach up and scrub more drying tears from his face. “You killed her…” he pointed out, gravely, hooked through a sob.

“No.” Regina pointed out with a sour sharpness that spoke to her own skeletons. “ _You_ did.” After a moment, “I’ll speak to you when the curse hits. You’ll know me. We’ll talk more then.” She walked towards the window and the moonlight bathed her over, seeking out the goodness below layers of skin that she’d long stopped calling her own. “You know I don’t take _pleasure_ in doing this. And she went quickly. If that’s any consolation. Barely even knew what hit her.”

“Get out,” said Bog.

“ _Help me_.”

“Ah’d rather run ye through an’ watch ye bleed out on mah land.” The words are whiskey, and he's glad for the burn.

Her eyes twitched into a glare. “Don’t try me, Bog King. You’ve seen what I can do. Don’t think I’ll stop there. You started this flame, I’m merely kindling the fire. And I’d hate for others to fall because of your mistakes…” When he didn’t respond she moved closer, grimacing at scales and thorns and greyed, decaying skin. He’d begun to molt, stress and sorrow peeling back layers, bits of shell lying about in mass graves. She pushed one aside with her foot, sneering, before kicking him lightly on the bottom of his own. He looked up, broken. “She has a sister, you know that.” Dead eyes flickered. “It’d be a shame for her to go.”

He wanted to scream and roar and reach up and claw her eyes out. He wanted to tell her over and over again that she had no right to take away sunshine, to stoop her dragons form and snuff out all the spots of bright hope in the world. Wanted to sit her down and show her one flower arrangement after the other, hoping it could break through some sort of shell. _Not my Dawn_ , he wanted to say. _Please, not my Dawn. She’s all anyone has left. She all I have left. I’m all she has, and we can’t lost each other_. But instead he let his head fall back, hoping she couldn’t see the way his heart ejected from his chest.

“You’ll remember, Bog King,” came the voice above him. “Might as well do it with the rest of your little flock alive.”

“Leave…” he whispered. “You got what you wanted. So _leave_.”

She shrugged delicately, nothing left to be said, and then she did finally disappear in a cloud of purple haze that stuck to the back of his throat and left the walls shimmering with residual magic.

He leaned back and stayed there. And for hours after the witch had disappeared, but the sickly sweet smell of magic had yet to follow, he sat on the floor and held the hilt and hated. When he started crying again he didn’t notice until the tears hit his hand, and even then he didn’t care.

“Please…” he said to no one in particular. “ _Please_ …”

* * *

 

(once upon a time)  
  
(there was a king who loved a princess very very much)

(so much that her name would go unspoken)

(and her nighdress would stay beneath his pillow)

(and he'd soak up the last dregs of her from the empty space beside him like weak tea)

(and pretend he wasn't lonely)

* * *

 

He’d wouldn’t have to go to Regina. She’d show up when she knew the time was right.

“So?” she’d say, tilting her head.

He’d just pass a scroll across the table, a list of agreements written into the bags under his eyes. She’d read them, nod, hum, and then reach for a quill. “You know, I don’t usually make a deal for a deal. But this is reasonable enough.” She scanned it again. “Your mother living with you though? Can’t separate from mummy just yet?” When he didn’t laugh along she scowled, but signed the bottom. “You’re doing the right thing, you know? Marie would’ve approved.”

He didn’t correct her. He didn’t want that name coming out of her mouth anyway. It would have poisoned it. Though he was filled enough with so many syllables - _Marianne, Marianne, Marianne_ \- that perhaps a good dose of that wouldn’t do much harm. There were days where he’d want nothing more than to follow along.

“Your little Dawn will be perfectly safe. She’ll work, she’ll live, she’ll stay with the person she was already with. The little… Sunshine or whatever. Doesn’t matter.” She waved a gloved hand, and the contract snapped closed, sliding itself across the counter. “I’ll call on you when you get settled.”

“Alright…” he mumbled, wanting nothing more for her to leave. “Fine.”

She nodded, smiled, showed all of her teeth. “You’re doing the right thing,” she said again, reminiscent of past talks. “You know that, right?”

He didn’t want to lie. But he didn’t want to say no. So instead he looked down at his hands, wondering if Marianne was watching and wondering just how ashamed of him she was. The idea only made her name heavier, and he shut his eyes.

“I’ll see you in a few days time, Bog King!” her hips swished like clockwork as she walked towards the window, taking a moment to stare at the moon through cracked glass. “In the meantime, you might want to get curtains. The moonlight is awful right now. Creatures like us need the dark, you know.”

“ _Go_.”

The smell of magic was all that told him she had already left.

He doesn't say anything to Dawn, who visits every week, hoping to talk to him. And he doesn't warn his mother, who paces in her room, out of tears and words for once in her life.

He's out of everything too. And he can't give anything. So he stays. And pretends that fairy tales aren't lies dressed up in funeral shrouds.

It was a few days later when he smelled it again. Sickly sweet and nauseating. He had closed his eyes when the magic hit them all, telling himself over and over again that it was just a change… that’s all… And chaos would be dealt with accordingly. He’d been alone before, he could do it again.

(once upon a time)

(a kingdom fell)

(and a king gladly fell with it)

But when he did wake up later, staring at five clawless finger for the third time that week, looking out a window pane towards a moon hovering above roofs and chimneys and stacks of grease smoke from a little diner across the way, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to begin a new adventure at all. The knock on his door, the clacking foot of a mayor's regal stiletto, tapping an impatient tune on the front stoop behind a screen door that shuddered and whined with every passing breeze, he wasn’t sure of anything. Looking out the window again, catching a glimpse of perfectly groomed hair and pressed clothes, he sighed.

Turning on his bed, reaching to the side table beside him, he gathered up the preserved flowers in his hand. A boutonniere, a blue stuck forever in bloom, the primrose petal that had long since greyed. He’d tied them to a chord the first day he’d found himself in this odd and strange place- looking in cabinets and finding hemp fowl string and a knife and piecing it together carefully, tucking it beneath one of his black shirts out of sight of the past queen, worry that she’d confiscate it if she’d found it had somehow passed through.

Draping the wire round his neck, hiding it under folds of still unfamiliar fabric, he shouted a curse at the door to get the woman to stop the incessant knocking. His fingers tapped the flowers, felt them stick out odd and familiar all at once.

“Come on love,” he rolled out of bed, moved out of the room, told himself that he wasn’t going to simply hide away again after it was all said and done. That he was going to take this all with as much pride as he still had.

(once upon a time)

(a king pretended he could still be strong)

“... think of this as an adventure, right?”

(even when his queen could not be found)

And then he opened the door


End file.
